


No such thing as magical wishes

by happox



Category: The Legend of Zelda, The Legend of Zelda: Skyward Sword
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, Fantasy Politics, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-04
Updated: 2015-07-04
Packaged: 2018-04-07 13:38:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4265181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/happox/pseuds/happox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>President Zelda Hylia escapes scandals and is in love with her bodyguard.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No such thing as magical wishes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lesbian_Impa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lesbian_Impa/gifts).



> Based on their Skyward Sword personalities and designs. My first time writing The Legend of Zelda fanfiction, even though it's pretty much my favourite thing in the world. Inspired by a friend.

”President Hylia! Miss President!”

The press persisted as Zelda Hylia made her way to the car, swarming around them like mosquitos – and her diplomatic waving very much resembled the act of squatting them away.

“Little miss president, I’ve heard from an inside source that you are romantically involved with a staff member, care to comment? Is our tax money being used to spoil your pup?”

But if the rest of the press were mosquitos, Ghirahim was a hornet, seeking only to do harm and spread demise. His theatrical reporting and spiteful gossip was well received both by followers of his ideology, and those who loved to hate him – though not so much by the president herself, and particularly not by her staff.

Impa was Zelda’s personal bodyguard, the one who had no off-duty hours, or plans to ever take any, and she was used to dealing with him. He had tried getting past her the first few times his questions had continued past the press conference, thrusting his microphone towards the president as if though it had been a sword, and Impa had never let it reach its goal. When she stood in his way this time, taller than him by over a head, she saw that the loathing was mutual.

“It is very frustrating for my colleagues and I to be silenced this way, you dog. It is our duty, our goal, our very purpose to expose the injustices in office. Yet you would have us squandered and ignored, with your pretty little president hidden away from criticism. Where is the ‘equality across Hyrule’ Hylia speaks of, in that?” Ghirahim asked.

He claimed frustration, but Impa saw only malice.

“You will grovel and grovel, but come up empty. The president hides nothing damaging, and only your projection is to blame for your accusations,” she told him with finality.

Zelda had gotten into the car, and she spoke through Impa’s ear piece: “I’m inside, you can leave him now.”

Without dignifying the reporter with another glance Impa obeyed. The press buzzed behind her as she ducked into the car but their noise was shut out as soon as she closed the door.

Zelda had unbuttoned the top button of her white shirt, and spared no time taking off her light blue suit jacket. She placed it on the seat beside her and leaned her head back, exhaling, as the car started to move.

After a two hour long speech and press conference they were headed back towards the Wind Fish Villa, which lay on the opposite side of the capital to the Old Royal Castle they had visited. The villa had been designed to be every president’s housing – named after a famous fairy-tale of dangerous dreams. The idea was that the president should never get lost in dreams; they must always remain vigilant and affect the real world, rather than an imaginary one.

Dreaming had hardly been a problem for Zelda thus far. The press had noted her tiredness, but not with the amount of concern they should have had for their elected president, Impa thought.

Zelda had her eyes closed for resting. As always, her rest was only temporary.

“I cannot believe they’re still talking about the Triforce controversy,” she said after a while had passed. “They don’t want to talk about the Goron famine after yet another bomb flower mine collapsed, or what we can do to help them. They don’t want to talk about the polluted water now effecting the Zora’s Domain. They want to talk about my answer from two weeks ago on one silly question…!” She shook her head. “It’s ridiculous!”

“You can’t let them affect you,” Impa said. “You must remain the adult. You are our president, and your focus must be the welfare of your people.”

“Of course.” Zelda frowned. “I wouldn’t stoop to their level. They are juvenile, I know this.”

Impa was seated across from her, because public appearance was key.

Softer, Zelda added: “I haven’t forgotten my duty, Impa. How could I, when you’re here?”

She stroke her purple bracelet, beneath the sleeve of her shirt, and Impa mimicked the movement with her own matching jewellery. They had not always been the newly elected president and her loyal bodyguard; once, they had been the privileged young Hylian girl, and the red-eyed, brown-skinned Sheikah – and an angry human boy intent on robbing Zelda blind.

Impa had been in the middle of her parkour training when she had witnessed an angry girl lecturing the would-be robber until his round ears were red with embarrassment. He had apologised profusely and taken off with a guilty consciousness, and left the stranger girls, and their valuables, alone.

“Hi,” had been Zelda’s first word when she had noticed the witness. “Can I help you, miss tall, dark and handsome?”

Impa could still remember how taken aback she had been, not only by Zelda’s attitude, but by her poise and grace.

“I think you could help everyone,” had been her reply, said in daze.

Everywhere she had turned in life, Zelda had been a pacifist, a peace maker, and a champion for equality; and Impa had been along for the ride for years. She had been there to comfort Zelda when her efforts had been in vain, to encourage her that she was doing the right thing and to protect her from those who disagreed so vehemently that they took to violence.

Amongst other things.

“I know that my work is thankless. I’m not chasing applause. But how can they care more for religion than lives?” Zelda asked: and though it was a rhetorical question, she looked to Impa for answers.

It had been her role for a long time; to share with Zelda her thoughts and opinions, and watch them realised. It had not been popular with her Sheikah clan to work so closely with a Hylian, but nowhere else had Impa found someone so willing to listen to her, and so adamant about enacting her beliefs.

“The loudest reporters are those with the least to say. Creating tabloids about hot topics sell more newspapers than sensible statements. The privileged love a scandal.”

The car parked inside of the gates of the Wind Fish Villa. Impa held the car door open for Zelda to climb out, and though it was seen as exaggerated, she escorted the president indoors, same as always.

The décor was filled with Triforce symbolism as any other fancy architecture in Hyrule. Statues of Din, Farore and Nayru loomed in the corridors, and there was even a banner depicting the Sheikah eye covering one wall: a forced oddity Impa’s clan would be outraged to see hung by outsiders.

“The scandal in preferring the goddess of wisdom,” Zelda sighed. “You think it’s silly too, right?”

“Yes.”

“Would any answer at all have satisfied them?”

“No. Everyone expects different things from the president. There is no way to please everyone, and pleasing their vanities is not your role.”

They were alone by then, having walked to the quarters of Zelda’s without surveillance. Impa had her quarters there too – but they were rarely used.

“They don’t need to like me,” Zelda agreed. “Not all of them.”

“Miss President,” Impa said with a rare smile – those she saved for Zelda, and their privacy – “You can rest assured that you are loved.”

Zelda giggled – a laugh the press had once written off as being much too girly for a leader, before being proven wrong by such a notion.

“And off the record, Impa?” she asked.

When they were alone her true self manifested in teasing and unfiltered feelings: such as her touching her bodyguard’s arm, and slowly moving her hand upwards. It still frustrated her, however, that she could barely reach Impa’s shoulder..

Leaning down, Impa became her saviour.

“Off the record, Zelda, you are even more loved.”

“Bad press and all?”

Impa kissed her with practiced ease, and did her best to take on as many of Zelda’s burdens as she possibly could with tongue and mouth. Her neck was used the ache from her position, and made better by Zelda’s arms wrapped around it: and the cool touch of the purple bracelet against Impa’s skin.

They had been through much during their years together: the presidential campaign almost being the most benign. It has felt like the finale of their struggles; to see the goal realised, and Zelda fulfilling the promise she had made during their very first meeting.

“I would love to help everyone, but how? What do you mean?” she had asked, open-minded and trusting at once.

Such was her nature, and such was their relationship. They kissed and shared their nurtured and instant trust with eager lips. Impa would look to Zelda for inspiration, and Zelda would look to Impa for motivation. Impa would protect Zelda’s dreams, and Zelda would work tirelessly to make Impa’s real.

“You could be president,” Impa had said. She was outrageous like that, and had spoken with the same conviction since she was a child. Years later, Zelda had realised that she could.

The press’s gossip was not all false: she was romantically involved with a staff member, and she had every intent to spoil her with gratitude and affection: things which came for free. But it was not to be shared with the judgemental, the vicious nor the indifferent.

What the president of Hyrule shared with her bodyguard was a private romance far too sensible for scandals and controversies on tabloids. It was grand enough to be a legend, but they preferred to just be Zelda and Impa, completely off the record. Hidden from the press and the public, they shared the same bed, and perfected just the right amount of dreaming – and the right amount of truth.


End file.
